


Flower

by ben8615



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Hope you enjoy, Nonbinary Character, Other, This was some random NaNoWriMo shit, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, coz I think it's kinda a mess but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ben8615/pseuds/ben8615
Summary: Her hands tremble as she reaches for the flower lying to the side of the sink. It’s purple, and glows faintly as she touches it.She has no idea where Drax could have found it, but at this point she didn’t want to question it.She slips it behind her ear, and steps back to fully take in her reflection.---Peters a transgirl that's all bye!!





	Flower

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit folks I can't write why am I here argh!?!
> 
> Right, now that that's out of the way, during NaNoWriMo I decided to make Peter trans and Gamora nonbinary and I'm hecking done with myself. As soon as I vaguely ship something even remotely straight, it seems I simply have to queerify it. So, sorry for this, I guess.
> 
> Also, unedited! Because why attempt to produce quality content when you can not do that?

The form before her eyes makes little sense. She can still see the Wrongness, the harsh jut of her jaw, the subtle stubble creeping down from her ears, but there’s something there. She can’t tell when it shifted exactly, but with her eyes lined and her lips painted, there’s a solidness in her. A Rightness.

Her hands tremble as she reaches for the flower lying to the side of the sink. It’s purple, and glows faintly as she touches it. 

She has no idea where Drax could have found it, but at this point she didn’t want to question it. 

She slips it behind her ear, and steps back to fully take in her reflection.

Her boots are black, but thin, making her feet look slightly smaller. They have a slight heel, and whilst it adds to her height slightly, they wrap up around her ankles in a way that she loves.

The trousers are brown, but they’re tighter than her usual pair. The cut is different, and they accentuate the illusion of curves.

She’s wearing her soft grey long-sleeve still, but Gamora’s green shirt (and how she’d questioned that fashion choice) falls, it’s collar softer than any other she’s worn. It almost seems to soften her face in the process.

And her face. That is a whole other story.

Rocket had found a lipstick in some crummy store at their last stop off, and after they’d all tumbled back into the Milano, he’d pressed it into her palm, muttering that it hadn’t been opened before proceeding to the ship’s underbelly. It wasn’t much to work with, but it lit her lips like a cherry. It doubled as a blush when applied lightly with a cotton swab, and as an eyeshadow.

The eye liner was, strangely enough, Drax’s. On his homeworld, makeup had been more customary of males, and Drax had kept a small box of war paints through all his travels. He’d told her one night, eyes lined with kohl, that it reminded him of home.

An unopened eye-liner had been left outside her bedroom door this morning, along with the glowy flower (that, of course, was its official name). Drax hadn’t said anything about it, but she’d nodded at him at breakfast, and he’s smiled back.

Peter takes a breath, hoping the sight will sink in a bit. She can’t cry, not with the makeup on.

But the picture is overwhelming in its moments of perfection, and her eyes well up regardless of her silent protests.

She dabs them off with a spare cotton swab, and breaths as calmly as she can whilst she reapplies the eyeliner.

She doesn’t look again.

The ‘fresher door rattles as is slides open.

She stands there for a moment. 

Even after all these years, it is difficult to rid herself of the fear.

But this is her family, and she knows them, trusts them despite the tightening in her chest and the tremble in her fingertips.

She brushes a hand through her growing hair, careful to avoid the glowy flower, and steps out. 

The ship is peaceful, lights dimmed in preparation for the night cycle.

Peter moves through the short corridor, eyes trailing the soft glow flickering along the orange chrome.

Her ship really is a beauty. She’d given him masc pronouns as a bit of a joke, but the tradition had caught on with his new occupants.

She smooths her hand over the cool wall as she makes her way to the kitchen, fascinated by the different ways the ambient light plays on the wall compared to her sharpied nails.

Drax is in the kitchen, his back to the entrance, and Peter steps in softly as her boots would allow, whispering over to the drinkauter. 

Drax is humming something, guttural and tuneless, and Peter bites her lip to avoid commenting. 

Not a dancer, her arse.

The drinkauter splutters as it whirrs to life, pipes dripping.

Peter watches from the corner of her eye as Drax whirls around to asses the sound, and his eyes focus in on her. 

His reaction had surprised her most of all. For a being known for his lack of subtlety, Drax had said very little on the subject of her transition. Peter had the feeling that the topic was familiar to him in some way, although he never said.

“Ah, Peter!” Drax moves towards her, a too strong hand thumping her on the shoulder, “I have good news! I stuck Rocket’s tail to the ceiling this morning, and he has yet to retaliate!”

Here Drax brakes into hearty laughter, a fist beating against his belly.

Peter takes a minute to process this one, worry and humour mixing in her stomach. 

Drax and Rocket’s consistently worsening prank war was a source of laughs for all of them, but Peter wondered where exactly it would end. They didn’t seem to be spinning towards a peaceful conclusion, that was certain.

Peter just hopes this wouldn’t end with the whole team sucked into the vacuum.

The drinkauter splutters to a halt at about the same time Drax’s laughter begins to calm down. She grasps the cup of 2% caffeine and 10% sugar with both hands, revelling in its warmth.

A low droooooong echoes around the kitchen, and Drax starts, before turning and striding around the small table to reach inside the replicator.

Something black and green plops into his hands, and Peter fights to keep her nose from wrinkling. 

None of them have really swapped foods yet, and Peter for one is not keen to begin.

Drax makes a pleased hum, before shoving the thing into his mouth and slurping it off his fingers.

A part of it oozes onto the floor, squelching as it touches down, and this time Peter is fighting her gag reflex.

Cultural differences and all, but really?

“I’m heading to the cockpit,” she clears her throat, “See you round?”

Drax’s brow furrows for a moment, and his gaze darts around the kitchen, but then a spark of recognition lights his eye, and he grins at her, giving a gooey thumbs up.

Peter shudders, but smiles back, nodding her way out.

The kitchen door rattles open smoother than the ‘fresher one, and Peter steps out.

The difference is immediate. The now audible hum of the engines settles into her bones, and something in Peter’s chest loosens itself and floats away.

It’s a weight she won’t miss.

This is where she’d grown up, amongst console lights that flickered, and an endless sea of glinting stars spread across her vision.

The door swooshes shut behind her, and Peter stands there for a moment, integrating into her surroundings, before lifting off and padding to her pilot’s seat.

She plunks down, pulling her knees to her chest and curling around her caff. It’s still warm to touch, and Peter wraps her hands tighter around it, breathing in the steam.

She lays her head to the side, pressing into the soft fabric of the synthaleather, and sighs.

The stars twist around her, blue and red and yellow and white and still breathtaking, even after all these years.

This ship has always felt like home, but there’s something more to it now. Something about the hum of the engines that is warmed by the people residing within.

It had taken some time for Peter to adjust to other sentients inhabiting her home, constantly taking up space that had once been solely hers, but now she could barely imagine being alone. Drax, Gamora, Rocket and Groot are as much a part of home as the ship.

Never before had a sentient accepted Peter, ‘warts and all,’ in the way these four criminals had. Yes, there’d been a few breakdowns, some shouting matches, and a good deal of drinking to get there, but now Peter has people that will fight for her, and ultimately, if the time came, would put her safety in front of their own.

And she, of course, will do the same.

She’s never felt this on Terra, not really. She was yet to be scarred enough. And as much as she hated (loved) Yondu, the threat of being eaten, and the constant quest for credits had clouded the good aspects of their relationship. Also, femininity wasn’t an area in which Yondu had been at all comfortable treading, and whilst Peter respects that harsh events had caused those opinions to form, it still soured their communication, a weight that neither of them could acknowledged.

Here, with her band of buffoons, Peter can be free, at least a little. Her body still hurts to look at, but her partners’ eyes don’t reflect her disgust, and that’s comforting on infinite levels.

Peter hears the doors swoosh open anew, and she blinks herself back to awareness. Soft footfalls pad along the metal, and Peter feels herself give a small smile, heat beginning to gather in her cheeks. 

She’d know those footsteps anywhere.

Gamora is near silent as they curl into the neighbouring seat, mirroring Peter’s positioning. Peter waits a moment, excitement and nerves building in her chest, then lifts her head in Gamora’s direction, eyes catching theirs.

She notes the shifts in Gamora’s face. Their eyes widen, crinkling at the edges, and their mouth slackens before curling up at the corners. 

“You look beautiful,” they whisper, eyes shining with reflected starlight, and Peter feels the tears build again. This time, she doesn’t stop them.

Her smile has widened, and now her jaw is stiff with the strength of it. A giggle bubbles up in her chest, and she lets it forth through the tears.

Gamora’s eyes soften, and they reach their hand over, grasping Peter’s in their own.

“You are so beautiful,” they murmur again, and then they uncoil from their position, taking their feet.

Peter watches as they untangle the half-emptied cup from her hands, setting it in the steering wheel. Then they bend down, one hand still entwined with hers, and the other lifting to brush softly through her hair, before landing on her neck.

Gamora’s fingers are cool, like the metal of the ship, like the emptiness surrounding them and the flickering blue of the console lights.

Gamora places their lips of Peter’s forehead, and Peter leans into the touch, grin soft. Then they kiss her on her left cheek, and her right cheek, and on her nose, before drawing back to catch her eye.

The feeling in Peter’s chest is overwhelming, and she can feel her eyes crinkling as they continue to tear up.

She uncurls, stretching to her feet, and ignoring the pins and needles in her legs as she pulls Gamora into her arms, arms that are usually too big and too muscled, but that right now feel pretty okay.

“I love you,” Gamora curls their head into Peter’s shoulder, their own shoulders relaxing.

“I know,” Peter murmurs back, and though the reference is lost on her partner, the sentiment is not.

The lights flicker around them, the stars sing, and Pina Colada plays softly in the background, and right there, right then, Peter knows that she is more home than ever before.

Her tears slowly dry, and the engine hums, and the music plays, and the stars are fire, and the Guardians travel onwards.

And Peter smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Wham, bam, skadam and done! I don't think I've ever written a fic without someone crying, and it seems all my crap ends with, "and x smiled" but whatever. Bye, folks! Have a good rest of your existence!


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